How It Might Have Been: Prologue
Disclaimer: None of this belongs to me...blah blah blah...It's all Tamora's...
Rating: PG-13, I guess.
Author's Note: To understand this story, you should probably pretend you don't know anything about 'The Immortals', since the events are kind of random. That said, start reading!
Summary: What if Daine had stayed with the wolves without remembering she was human for a longer time? Say, years?
Deep in the forest, all was silent. No harsh human noises disturbed the sleeping trees. Not a twig snapped. Not a leaf rustled. The usual cool breeze that swept through the trees every night was still. Every now and then, though, a squirrel would stir sleepily in its tree-hollow home. A bird would awaked to preen a wing before resting its eyes again. None of them broke the almost unnatural silence.
If any human used to the city life had stood among the trees, he would have been frightened by the endless silence. He would think to himself, It is abnormal for animals to be so still and quiet. Any normal human who stood here would echo our imaginary city boy's thoughts.
But Veralidaine Sarrasri, called Daine, was not a normal human.
Suddenly, a dark shadow loomed from the trees. Its enormous wings suddenly shot to its sides and it dove fast toward the ground. it extended its claws just before a sharp squeal pierced the air.
Hawska looked up nervously when the shrill cry rent the silence. Other members of the herd pawed the ground restlessly. The herd had sensed danger earlier, and had tried to convince Vur to move on. But Vur was getting old. He did not sense anxiety of the night, nor that of his herd. He had barely looked up when the shriek had stirred the herd.
Hawska was a low ranking stag. It was not his place to do what he was going to now, but he honestly believed that the herd, his herd, was in danger.
Hawska nervously approached Vur. Lord Vur, he began. The herd is frightened. As part of the herd, I suggest we leave this place. It would put the herd at rest.
Vur looked up sharply. Do you not trust my judgment? he demanded sharply. Hawska tried to reply, but Vur cut him off. I know what I am doing! The herd is being foolish. And it is not the place of stags like you, Hawthorn, to order your betters . Now leave me!
Hawska left, his antlered head hung low. He was hurt and troubled. He was insulted that Vur had mistaken his name. Hawska didn't understand what was the matter with Vur. Ever since he had grown into his seventeenth year, he had become snappish and withdrawn. He had recently made several decisions without thinking that had resulted in losses for the herd. Hawska did not know what it was to grow old. Not many deer did.
Hawska was puzzling over this when suddenly several heads went up near where Vur was grazing. They all looked around, alert and afraid. Vur didn't notice.
A doe's tail flew up, displaying the white distress sign. Wolves! she cried, and began to race away. White flags flew up, and suddenly the clearing was filled with racing deer.
Wolves! The cry was taken up by the rest of the herd. Wolves! Hawska tore after the herd. Wolves! And then he saw them.
Six wolves threw themselves into the clearing, yellow eyes gleaming in the darkness, white teeth grinning, long pink tongues lolling out of their mouths.
Hawska was mad with fear. The sight of the wolves pushed all rational thought out of his mind. Instinct took over. Run! it commanded. Run! Hawska ran and ran faster. The last thing he remembered before his fear began to command him was Vur, panting and limping, at the very back of the herd.
Close in on him! Halftail, take the left! I will take the right! Silverpelt swerved to the right, and saw Halftail do the same, his stubby tail waving from side to side, to the left. The rest of the wolves began the close the distance between them and the fleeing deer. He was easy prey. Old, limping, wheezing. But still strong. Silverpelt frowned.
Daine! This one is too big! We will trap him! You finish him! Silverpelt panted. The Pack was gaining on it! The joy of the chase was on them. One wolf howled with delight, to be answered by another call. But this call was wrong, somehow. It sounded strange. The wolves didn't seem to notice.
All at once, the wolves were on their prey. The deer cried out as a wolf leaped onto its back and began to tear at his shoulder. He slowed even more. Then, suddenly, a rock wall loomed in front of him. Wolves jumped on either side of him. He was trapped.
Vur knew then that he was doomed. There was no way out. But he would not go down easy. Determined, he gave a spurt of speed and reached the wall ahead of the pack. He reared suddenly, throwing the wolf on his back into the dirt. The wolf, Halftail, yelped when he hit the ground and slithered back to the pack, injured. Vur turned and faced the wolves, old antlers lowered against his foe. Hopeless though it was, Vur was going to fight.
To his surprise, the wolves did not rush at him as one like most wolves would. They made a semicircle around him and prowled, waiting.
Where is Daine? growled one. Her name was Dewfur.
She is coming, replied Silverpelt. You know she is slower than us.
She's not much slower. Good thing, too. Another, named Flameheart, had spoken.
I still don't see why we can't just kill him and get it over with. It was Halftail.
Idiot! snarled Silverpelt. There are not enough of us to take on an elk! You are injured already, and we would suffer losses. Even an old elk like this one is dangerous.
We got along fine before Daine came. We killed our own prey then.
Silverpelt's answer was cut off. Pack-brothers! I am sorry to delay our feast!
Daine!
The wolves flocked around the new arrival. For a moment she was covered by furry gray bodies, and Vur could not see her. What is so special about this Daine? he wondered. And then the wolves finished greeting Daine and backed away. Vur got his first sight of Daine, and he was filled with confusion and terror. And it was not because Daine was the biggest wolf of the Pack, or the meanest looking, or anything like that. No. It was because Daine was not a wolf.
She walked on four legs like a wolf. She acted like a wolf, sniffing the air and growling. She talked like a wolf with mind-speech. She was treated like a wolf, obviously accepted into the Pack. But Daine was not a wolf. She was not even one of the People. Daine was human.
Scraggly brown hair fell down to her shoulders in some places, her ears in others, clumsily cut by a knife. Not a stitch of cloth clung to her lithe, muscular body. A thin bracelet that was caked in mud hung from her wrist, so dirty it was impossible to tell what color it was. Every one of her ribs showed clearly through tanned skin. Her body was covered with scratches and bruises. Old scars that had clearly been delivered by a human weapon slithered along her back and legs. Her knees were callused from constant scraping on the forest floor and her feet were so hard they resembled hooves. Her hands displayed long, broken fingernails. One of them clutched a dagger that was dug deep into the ground. Her hollow, gray-blue eyes glittered in the moonlight.
Suddenly Daine lunged, hunger in her eyes, toward the stag. The dagger gleamed dully. Vur reared, all his sense leaving him at the sight of the wolf-girl. Quick as lightning, the girl scrambled part way up the vertical rock wall and threw herself onto the deer, dagger burying itself deep into Vur's back. Pain lanced through his shoulders and into his head. He through back his antlers and howled into the night. Daine scurried over him like a monkey. Suddenly she was just above his front legs, on his chest. She stabbed him again and again, trying to kill quickly. The dying animal's legs crumpled to the ground. Quick as a flash, Daine was on his back again, safe from being crushed by his enormous weight. The deer let out one last sigh of breath, and then went still. Vur, lead stag of the Long Lake deer herd, was dead.
As soon as the elk hit the ground, the wolves swarmed on it. The stag was too heavy to drag back to the rest of the Pack, so the hunting wolves would fill their bellies now, rest, fill them again, rest, and only then bring what remained back to the Pack.
Daine tore at its hind leg with her teeth, strong jaw and sharp teeth doing the rest. She snarled, bit, and growled with the other wolves as she ate. If she found a piece that was too tough for her to rip off, she angrily slashed it out with her dagger before devouring it.
Once the animals were too tired and full to eat anymore, they slept. Their furry bodies surrounded the deer carcass. Daine lay awake for a while. For a moment she wondered why she had wanted to kill the deer quickly, but then, frightened, she thought of wolves. I am a wolf! she thought fiercely. This thought was her anchor to herself. Whenever she found herself thinking strange and frightening things, she forced herself to the same thought. I am a wolf!
But there was one part of her mind that was not wolf. That part made her do things that were un-wolflike. Carry a dagger. Where the strange wristband. Kill prey quickly, and not because of her hunger, but because it was cruel to let things suffer. The rest of the Pack had simple thoughts(or so she thought), but Daine's were more complex. They wouldn't understand about suffering. Daine found it easier to do what this part of her said rather than try to argue with it. She with scared to explore it. For what could she be if she wasn't a wolf? That part of mind knew. But for Daine, ignorance was bliss.
Another wolf lay awake as well. Silverpelt lay on his side, eyes open and staring into the night. He was thinking, an odd pastime for a wolf. He watched the Girl-Who-Was-Pack. She lay stretched out like the rest of them, eyes roving in her eyelids as she slept. He remembered the events before she had come. The Pack had been different then. Their thoughts had been of food, pups, mates, and staying away from humans. They had told stories, but every one was almost the same. When the humans had come, the Pack had fled. Wolves had died, slain by human spears. The Pack hadn't thought about how they were dying out. Only that they had to stay away from the spears. They had once been a normal wolf pack.
Then Daine had come.
She had stumbled into the Pack at night after an unsuccessful hunt. She was cut all over and bleeding. Smelling blood, the wolves had gotten ready to attack. They wouldn't normally have eaten human flesh, but the smell of blood made them mad with hunger. Then she spoke to them, somehow. She pleaded with them, begging to stay with them for a short time while her wounds healed. Silverpelt had agreed, and helped her by licking her wounds. In the days that she stayed, knowledge began to pour into his head, faster then he could stand. His way of thinking changed. He had a real memory now. His thoughts were logical. They were unnatural for a wolf. The rest of the Pack felt it too, but not as strongly as Silverpelt. Soon they all began to act less like wolves. Now they thought they could outwit anyone, even humans. Silverpelt liked the old way of thinking better. At least that way he didn't have a constant pain in his head.
Daine had stayed until her wounds healed. Then she stayed longer. She stayed so long she began to think herself to be a wolf. She had no memory of her life as a human. To the wolves, she was the Girl-Who-Was-Pack. She was one of them. She was a wolf.
The rest of the Pack didn't understand the flow of thoughts in Silverpelt's head. He kept them to himself. Once, on a hunt, Daine got lost and was gone for six days. The flow of knowledge in Silverpelt's head had slowed to a trickle in that time. The trickle he could bear. But when she returned, the rush started again.
Silverpelt liked Daine very much. Once, at the time when he thought her pure wolf, he considered becoming mates with her. But then the flow had advanced his knowledge again, and he realized he couldn't. With his new knowledge, he knew it would hurt her to make her leave. She could die. So he stood the pain. When he felt as if he would go mad, he left Halftail in charge and roamed the forest until he felt he could return. At these times, Silverpelt considered running away or casting Daine out. He knew he could not run away. The Pack needed him, and what was a wolf without his Pack beside him? But the Pack needed Daine too, if it was to survive.
Silverpelt rolled over, eyes still wide open. The Pack needed both of them. Silverpelt let out a breath and closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. Sometimes, there were no answers.